An Interesting Eternity
by Helene Fyne
Summary: Abandoned once more, Claire's insecurities wreak havoc on the life she and Gabriel have built. Can their relationship withstand her betrayals, or will this be the end of their Interesting Hobbies? Volume Five in the Interesting Hobby series. Rated M.
1. November 2546

**VOLUME FIVE: AN INTERESTING ETERNITY**

_NOVEMBER 2546_

History really does repeat itself. When I was as young as I look, I always thought that it was a dumb saying—if the same things happened over and over again, why would we spend so much time learning about it in class? But as the years went on, it became apparent that not only do the same events seem to be on a recurring cycle, but I get a front-row seat to all of it. Over and over and over again.

Even the events of my own life give me a sense of déjà vu. I am once again a semi-public figure here in New York. It keeps me sort of busy, but other than that it's really not all that great. I'm more comfortable as a nameless, faceless nobody. Now just about everyone in Manhattan knows who I am, and many treat me with fearful respect. After all, one word from me and who knows what kind of things my husband would do to them? The thought makes me laugh.

I haven't seen or heard from Gabriel in about a year. He's been busy, of course, and he would be home only for a week or so before heading out again. But his absences got longer, and his visits got shorter. He was home for all of two days last time before he told me that he'd be in Asia for a while. That was thirteen months ago, and he hasn't contacted me once. After living with him again, raising our daughter together…the idea of returning to seeing him only once every ten years makes me embarrassingly panicky.

At first I brushed it off, telling myself that of course he couldn't always be here in New York, and that I was silly to compare these small disappearances to the decades we spent apart. But more and more, I find myself listening to the little voice in my head that tells me he's forgotten me, that he will no longer want me when he controls the world again. The feeling of abandonment, the one that I thought had died when I became a real wife and mother, has gotten almost overpowering.

It's not as though I don't realize how confusing it is. On the one hand, this man has made it clear that I'm not to leave New York without his goddamned _permission_, effectively keeping me from seeing Dani and Kale. But I still feel hopelessly alone now without him. It's enough to drive any normal person crazy.

I can only wait so long for him; I'm sure of that. I'm not capable of living forever on the rare scraps of time he can spare me—especially when those scraps are so few and far between.

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**A/N: Hello beautiful readers! We present volume five in the Interesting Hobby series, our final installment told from Claire's Point of View. Lots of M-ness ahead. Beware. We suggest having read at least volumes 1 and 2 before starting in on this one. They can be found on our author page. Reading volumes 3 and 4 would be super beneficial though, as there's a bunch of plot stuff in there. **

**Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	2. April 2547

**A/N: This really is rated M!**

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_A__PRIL 2547_

Spring is a time of renewal. The hard earth breeds lilacs and other flowers for the sun while the cold snow melts and begets tiny streams. The spring is a time of renewal for the earth. So why can't it be the same for me?

I remember this scene. Smoke and rhythm combined and breathing. Sweat on the air and on my tongue when I move. All eyes are on me; some are wary, others interested. I'm looking for the right person. It's a woman. Her eyes are dark and slanted, her breasts small and pert. Black shoulder length hair sticks in damp tendrils to her cheeks and neck.

"Hey there," I let the southern drawl come out. It sounds foreign in this language. "What's your name?"

She hesitates, but her girlfriends have already left her and she has nowhere to go.

"Mai," she says, jutting her chest forward. Her nipples are hard through the thin silk of her shirt.

"Are you interested?" I ask. There's no need to be coy in this club.

She hesitates again, biting her lip and tilting her head to the side. She's a tiny bit shorter than I am.

"For the right price," she murmurs.

I roll my eyes and chuck her chin with my fingers. "I don't pay for favors," I say sweetly, "but if you're looking for a good time, and I'm still unoccupied, go ahead and come find me."

I turn to go and feel her hand in mine, tugging me back.

"Okay, maybe I am interested."

I smile a self satisfied smile and turn my grin on her. "Well then, I hear the bathroom has some really spacious stalls."

I lead her quickly into the restroom; people clear out when they see me coming. It's odd being noticed like this, but it's all part of the plan. After all, if people start talking, he's bound to find out.

I stroke Mai's glossy hair affectionately as she pushes me against the wall of the bathroom, wondering for a moment what it will look like soaked in blood and detached from her skull.

I let her hands roam, brushing my knuckles over her lips and giving myself over to the sensations. She's not new to this; she knows exactly where to touch.

Her fingertips smooth beneath the short skirt of my dress, dancing across my thighs until their spreading me and I'm resting all of my weight against the tile. There's a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Anticipation and dread mingled with the building tension I've been missing for nearly a year and a half.

I feel my panties slide down my thighs and hook around my ankles, caught by my high heeled shoes. Mai is sinking to her knees, fingers twisting my nipples roughly as she does and making me gush. I haven't felt that for a while, the disregard for my comfort, the anticipation of my muffled moans.

She doesn't just lick me, she drinks me, nipping at the inside of my thighs and catching every drop of arousal as she explores. Her lips are so soft, just like the skin of her cheeks. It's so different from what I'm used to.

Too soon she has me arching and her nails are digging into the backs of my thighs and she's drawing blood and my head is _spinning. _She moves up before I can come. She bites one nipple over the thin cloth of my dress and then the other before she lets her teeth graze my jaw and finally come to rest over one trembling lip. The hints of pain are delicious.

Her tongue is in my mouth and her hand is between my legs, fingers buried and moving in the slickness she finds there. She draws them from me just long enough to spread her two fingers apart in front of my face, showing me the sticky strings of fluid and running it over my lips before she returns them to my throbbing center and starts kissing me again. Her tongue runs over lips and teeth and tongue and she's thoroughly enjoying this… enjoying me.

It's been so long since I've been enjoyed, since I've been taken and _made_ to come.

Soon I'm getting sore, and I know that she has four fingers deep inside of me and I'm stretching and tearing a little. There's blood under her nails and in my arousal, and her teeth and sinking into my lip. Copper floods my mouth for a second, but I swallow it down and then it's gone. I know I've healed.

"Touch me," she orders, taking my hand and shoving it between her thighs. She's soaked and her under things are already gone. There's no resistance as I go exploring, and it's different, much different than touching myself. I rub and I pinch in the ways I like, leaving my nails out of it because not everyone likes pain. Soon she's whimpering and I'm coming around those four fingers. She pushes them in and out, drawing blood from my lips again as she bites and comes herself. I can feel every delicate spasm around my hand.

She sinks to the floor, utterly spent. I stand against the wall, catching my breath. There's a line of women waiting by the open door.

I fix my dress and crouch down, giving Mai a light good-bye kiss on her forehead.

I'm out of the club before I know it, and the cool night air is pressing in around me, suffocating me. My own fluids trickle down my thighs.

I was wrong. Spring isn't a time for renewal or second chances, it's repetition. There's nothing new about spring, nothing that hasn't happened a thousand times before.

I sink into a park bench and lay down, staring up at the stars. Once upon a time you couldn't see them for all the lights in the city, but now they're almost as clear as crystal.

I want to float up and out. I want to dance between the stars and get out of this god damned city.

And then I'm making the decision to go, to find a way to disappear before he comes back and finds me. I will not give Spring a chance to return, growing things and breeding life.

I will be the eternal winter. Cold, Frozen… Dead.

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**A/N: ****Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	3. April 2547 2

LATE APRIL 2547

This is it. I talked to Dani's old boss, Ketra, about hiring someone to do some work for me. She got me in touch with Bill. I met with him last week, outlining my plan and the kind of work I had in mind for him. He's proved to be surprisingly agreeable.

I'm leaving to go to Mexico where the kids are. I miss my daughter's easy smile and Kale's sharp wit, and if I'm leaving I might as well be with them. I'm not so foolish, though, as to think I can get there by myself.

That's where Bill comes in. He's a shield of sorts—if he chooses not to be found, he's as good as gone. There are limits, of course, but as long as I am in very close proximity to him, Gabriel shouldn't be able to find me. Bill's job is to get me there, after which he's free to go back or stay or whatever. He just needs to stay far away from my husband. I don't doubt that Gabriel would get whatever answers he wanted if he ever learned that I'd contacted Bill. I've had to pay the man a small fortune, but limitless funds are one of the upsides to being Claire Gray. I open the door now to see him grinning despite the early hour.

"Ready to go, ma'am?" he asks cheerfully, as though I have not asked him to subvert the will of the most powerful man on earth. He's got a large duffel bag over his shoulder, his travel luggage.

"Just Claire," I remind him, "and yes I am." I pick up my own duffel and my backpack, closing the door carelessly behind me.

"Aren't you going to lock the door?" he asks me as I start walking. My smile twists with just a touch of bitterness.

"I'm not coming back, Bill. I'm getting the hell out of here, remember?" He nods sheepishly as he catches up. The train station isn't too far, and we get there before the air is properly warm. He throws our bags onto the pile that employees are transferring to the baggage car. I shake my head firmly when he offers to hold my backpack for me. My old K-bar is in there, along with a few other emergency supplies.

This first train is only taking us to DC. I wanted to go due south and then take a ship to Merida, but Bill gets seasick, so we're taking the long, landlocked route. From DC we board another train to Memphis, where we plan to stay for a couple of days. My eyes grow heavy as I go over the plan I've memorized in the past few weeks, and my head droops as I drift in and out of sleep.

"_Claire…Claire…_" I can hear Gabriel's voice as he caresses my cheek, and I press my face against his warm palm. It feels good just to touch him after so long, even if I know it isn't real. I'm only dreaming. My lips curl into a smile as my mind conjures his familiar features: the distinctive eyebrows, the full lower lip, the angle of his jaw. Beautiful…

"Claire." I jerk upright as Bill's voice interrupts my sleep. He offers me a tissue and I look at it, confused. "You were crying." I touch my face to feel one or two tears. Not crying, really. I take the tissue from him with murmured thanks and wipe at my cheeks.

"We're almost there," he says comfortably. To my surprise, it's been a little over three hours. We've almost completed the first leg of the trip, and we haven't been caught. I have to wonder if that's because Bill's ability is protecting us or if my once-possessive husband just hasn't noticed I'm gone yet. After all, he hasn't bothered with me at all in so long; maybe he just doesn't remember to check on me at all. Maybe he no longer cares what I do.

That last thought makes me chuckle. Even after our son died and I ran away, Gabriel still kept tabs on me. Still found ways to control me. I recall my dream-image again, making it as real as possible. Then I change his face to that arrogant smirk and remind myself: beautiful. But dangerous. Domineering. Manipulative. Self-serving. All in all, not good for me. Not someone I should pine away for and waste feeling on.

I shake myself again as the train pulls into the station, screeching to a halt. _Keep moving, Claire._

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**A/N: ****Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	4. April 2547 3

_Later That Day…_

Washington DC is nothing like I remember it. Monuments that were once statuesque and symbolic have either decayed to such an extent that they are unrecognizable, or disappeared completely. The only thing that really remains of the city is the roads. Old buildings burned and new buildings took their places, but the flat, empty lines my people once wasted hours a day on are still there.

Perhaps the most striking example of the change can be seen on the grounds of the former white house, where vendors set up their wares during the light hours and the market thrives in the old ruins of our former leaders' lives. As I walk through the place, I remember the old story my mother used to tell me, the one about Christ driving the merchants out of the temple. I don't know why, but I half expect to see him here. Maybe it's the odd sense of reverence I feel, reverence for the past.

As I walk, Bill holds my hand. The moment when he first took it was odd. He grabbed it without warning and I flinched, yanking it back and glancing sharply at him. He had grimaced then and apologized.

"We can't be separated," he had explained, "And with this many people milling about, it's only too easy." I had hesitated. Of course I had. I hadn't held the hand of a man in such a long time, not since Dani was a child and we would walk as a family. I had relished those times, Gabriel's hand over mine, warm and strong as Dani ran ahead, picking up rocks and leaves and other interesting things.

Lightning quick, another scene flashed behind my eyes: laying in bed, his hands in mine pinning them to the pillow as he bit my neck and came deep inside of me, his back arched up and his sweat against my cheek.

I let Bill take my hand then, nodding as my pulse quickened. He was tall and solidly built beside me. Somewhere between 35 and 45, his hair is a light brown and his face is slightly weathered. He is not unattractive, but he is no Gabriel. Still, there is something appealing about the surety in his eyes. He's normal… something I have never been.

We ambled slowly. There was time to kill before the next train, two days, in fact. They were much sparser than they once had been, and the schedules governing them didn't make spontaneous travel a real possibility.

So we had decided to pick up supplies before finding a place to stay. I stop at a small stand with fresh fruits and vegetables displayed, carefully disengaging my hand from Bill's and reaching into my pocket for one of the watch batteries I'd taken from Gabriel's collection. They are small, light, and valuable when trading; the fact that they are also some of my negligent husband's most prized possessions hadn't hurt either when deciding what to take.

I hand one of the little round disks to the attendant who takes it, smiling widely and nodding. "Yes, yes," she says, "This will do. Of course, at the start of the year when the currency is distributed, that'll all change, but until then…" her voice trails off and I begin collecting the food into my bag. I know how much the battery is worth, and just how much it will buy me. I don't stop loading until my bag is full.

I make to swing it over my shoulder as I nod my thanks to the vendor, but Bill catches it easily in one hand, drawing it from me.

"Let me," he says, smiling. He has a nice smile, like someone I'd expect to have three children and a wife he loves deeply. I wonder momentarily if I should ask about a family but then decide against it. I don't want to get too attached to this man. If Sylar finds us, he'll be just another corpse, and if he doesn't… Well, I won't see him after Mexico anyway.

He takes my hand again, and this time it doesn't feel so strange against mine. We make our way quickly to the lodging house nearest the station. It's a rundown building, made of brick and mortar, crumbling at the edges. Bill asks for a single room, one bed and again I flinch.

"Is the single bed necessary?" I ask as the house keeper goes for the key. Bill nods.

"We're travelling as a couple, remember?" he asks, "and besides, I can't extend the shield as much when I'm sleeping. It recedes to about five feet."

The room is small and dingy. The bed smells of bleach and something sour. I try not to think too much about it, asking Bill if I'm okay to go in and take a shower. He nods, following me in and standing in the doorway, back facing me so I can undress. He sits on the sink and waits for me to finish. I try to keep the sound of my sobs from reaching him, but I think he knows.

Back in the bedroom, we change for the night. I pull on a pair of tights and a loose fitting t-shirt. It's a dark, hunter green and it once belonged to Gabriel. I inhale the scent of it before pulling it over my head and climbing between the sheets. Bill follows my into the double bed, wearing a loose fitting pair of cotton pants and a t-shirt. He pulls a gun in with him, hiding it beneath his pillow.

"If you need to get up, wake me. I'll go with you," he says. I turn my back on him to face the wall, nodding. "Claire," he says softly.

"Hmm?"

"It's all right if you want to cry. You don't have to hold it in on my account."

I nod. The tears burn the back of my throat and my body begins to shake.

His hand finds mine, and before I know it I've turned around completely to bury my face against his neck, crying and shaking and wishing things were different.

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**A/N: ****Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	5. March 2113

March 2113

I looked around furtively before smashing the window and lifting myself onto the ledge. Broken glass sliced deep as I pulled myself into the abandoned house. There was old garbage and a thick layer of dirt on the floor. Roaches teemed over every surface, and the air was stale and foul. In the worst area of the city, this had to be the worst house of them all. But it had been a bad month, and it was a place to sleep.

I picked shards of glass out of my flesh as I moved through the house, making sure I was alone.

The house was devoid of furniture and people, and I sank onto the floor of an empty bedroom.

My forehead rested against my knees and I fought to control my breathing.

I looked like shit. I'd woken up about a month ago, wild-eyed and convinced that if I could just get to Texas maybe I'd forget everything that had happened since I discovered my ability; I'd sold the few things I owned and set out immediately. This was during one of the many transportation crises, and I'd ended up walking most of the 1600-mile journey. I stole what I could after using my money, but I looked (literally, in my case) like I'd been hit by a bus.

Odessa was different. A hundred years will do that to a town. It was slowly beginning to take on the desperate feeling that hinted at Sylar's grip and how he had stopped caring about being any sort of real leader to America or the rest of the world. And no matter how long I walked up and down the streets, visiting sites I had known as a child…it wasn't home. I couldn't even pretend that it felt familiar, safe. Instead, I felt even more isolated and lost than I had before. Here was more proof that I was unnatural, freakish. Everything changed, except for me.

I barely noticed the tears that dripped and left tracks on my dirty face. Why should it matter if Odessa was different? What had I expected? I rocked back and forth as I mourned yet another loss. I knew logically that this was nothing compared to the deaths of my family, my son, but I couldn't stop my sobs from tearing out.

"I hate you," I choked out between gasps. "I'll always hate you."

"Really, Claire. You know that talking to yourself is a sign of madness." Sylar stood next to the door; I had no idea how he'd gotten there or how long he'd been following me. "Learn to accept your inner demons and love yourself." He looked down at me with pitiless eyes, amused at my display of emotion.

"Fuck you," I told him, unable to keep my mouth shut. "How well have you accepted your life's disappointments? Have you come to terms with the fact that I left you?" He said nothing, and I switched to another pressure point. "Did you embrace the opportunity for growth when you killed your mom?"

His eyes glittered then and he replied, almost nonchalantly, "Not as much as I did when I killed yours." My hand found a broken bowl on the floor next to me and I hurled it at his mocking face. He, of course, diverted its trajectory so that it hit the wall to his right.

"I can't say I'm surprised to find you here," he said, shrugging and leaning against the wall. "It seems beneath you though. Come on, Claire," he leaned in with a gentle smirk, "did you think you'd be coming home?"

I smiled with a mixture of bitterness and self-contempt. "Well, you sure as hell wouldn't have found me in Costa Verde."

He laughed outright. "No, I guess you're right. Costa Verde was the stage for _my_ greatest triumph. But here in Texas, your shining hero rescued you from the wicked villain and everyone lived happily ever after." Sylar looked at me hard, judgment in his eyes. "It's nice to pretend that it ended there, isn't it, Claire? Nice to make believe that the little princess got off scot-free with her happy family and that evil died on the steps of your high school, instead of limping away into the woods to come back again."

"Please," I whispered, exhausted and in no mood to listen, much less argue with him, "Please just leave me alone. You got what you wanted. You don't have to rub it in."

"Just a reminder. I will always get what I want from you, Claire." He gazed down at me and his gaze became flat and unreadable again. "You look awful. At least go see if the plumbing works and clean yourself up." And with that advice, he walked out. I heard the front door shut behind him before slumping back to the floor.

_I hate him. I hate him I hate him. I hate him._

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**A/N: ****Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	6. April 2547 4

_LATE APRIL 2547_

We wait at the train station, sitting on an old stone bench and watching the clock's hands tick slowly around its face. At least, I watch them. Bill holds my hand on his leg, and even though we're not in a crowd and there's no danger of separation here, I am comforted by the contact. Ever since our first night here I've felt safe near him, as if when my skin touches his I'm invisible to the world… and the world is invisible to me.

When people walk by us, they seem wary. I'm not sure whether it's because of the way we're sitting so still on the normally chaotic platform or if it's something more. No one's whispering, no one's rushing in to detain us. Sylar must not have sent out an alert. Yet. I'm not foolish enough to believe that it won't happen at all. My husband has ever been a resourceful man. I'm sure that if it suited his purposes, he'd order anyone in my vicinity to drive a stake through the back of my neck and keep my body on ice until he deigned to pick it up.

The train pulls into the station with a huge amount of bellowing and screeching. Pillars of black smoke belch out from the front as the car doors open and waves of people spill out onto the platform. Men and women and even children hustle and bustle. Mothers cling to children's hands, keeping them close. There's a remnant of fear in all of their eyes. Just five years ago moving these children around in public would not have been an option, but since the orphanage reform and the disbanding of child catching organizations, the world has become much safer for children.

I can't help but smile at the thought of what my daughter has achieved in such a short time. The orphan reform initiative is her project, and, supported by both her husband and father, she has been able to make the country a much safer place for children. I wonder at the woman I raised. When did I instill any sort of appreciation for other's suffering? I don't remember being particularly caring towards others as I raised her. But perhaps that her father and I cared for _her _so deeply had been enough.

I let my head fall back. My hair cascades over the bench and a few strands catch on the concrete, pulling at my scalp. I smile. Now there is one thing I can be glad of, one thing I do not regret about my time spent living comfortably with the monster I call husband. We raised a beautiful daughter, and aside from the normal hang-ups and black spots inevitable when two centuries old people, one of which is a sadistic serial killer and the other of which is a depressed and masochistic former cheerleader, decide to raise an equally immortal child… she turned out relatively un-fucked-up.

And she's happy. At least, I imagine she's still happy. I haven't spoken to her in such a long time. But all that will change soon. Soon, I'll be in Merida and I'll be able to see her. And Kale. As much grief as that boy caused in our home, I can't help but love him. The fact that he is so obviously like Sylar is disconcerting… I can hardly be sure he won't turn me back over to him when I show up on their doorstep… but I trust in Dani enough to reign him in, and I trust in that fact that he worships the very ground she walks on. I even trust that when Sylar finds out I stayed with his first officer and wasn't immediately turned over for punishment, he will not kill him for fear of upsetting his little girl.

Bill tugs at my hand and I rise to my feet. He pulls me towards the train, putting his hands around my waist and lifting me as if I weigh nothing. The car shifts and shakes under my weight, groaning as he climbs aboard.

"It's a while to Tennessee, lots of stops in between. Might want to make yourself comfortable," Bill says, pulling a blanket out of his rucksack and handing it to me. I spread it out over a bale of dried straw and settle down over it, resting my head against the rusted side of the railway car.

We're quiet until the train begins to move. Seven other people have joined us in the car, a young couple holding hands in the corner, three women who look like they're related, and a middle aged man holding the hand of a small child at his side.

I catch Bill watching the child, his elbow resting on one knee and his cheek propped up on his hand.

"Have you ever had children?" he asks suddenly, softly.

I gulp. I hadn't been expecting the question.

"Two," I say without much thought, "One, actually, but my daughter is married."

One of his eyebrows arches and I wince. I forgot that to him I look barely old enough to have one child let alone a married one. But Bill knows my ability, although he hasn't asked my age. That's probably for the best.

"Do you?" I ask, leaning forward.

He pauses, watching the child for a few more seconds before shaking his head and letting his eyes flutter closed. "No," he answers, "I never had that opportunity."

There's something odd about the way he answered, as if he's making a split decision about his answer, but I choose not to dwell on it. Instead, I take his hand in mine and rest my head against his shoulder. He stiffens for a moment before moving to wrap one arm around me and draw me closer. It's comfortable here against his body.

"Bill," I murmur against his shirt.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you said yes. When I asked you to help me. I would never have come this far without you." And I think he knows that I don't just mean because of his power.

As I fall asleep there against him, the scent of him swirling around me, I hear the other people in the car whispering.

"Take that out of your mouth, Kitza."

"Jen said she'll be waiting at the station in Tennesse."

"That _can't_ be her."

And then I'm swirling into a dark, dreamless sleep.

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**A/N: ****Enjoy! And please don't forget to review, it's the only way we get paid. **

**--Mel and Chuck**


	7. April 2547 5

_A few days later…_

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I seethe. After several days of that awful train, we finally made it to Memphis, only to find out that our journey would be delayed. The attendant at the train station told us that there would probably be a new train to Dallas within a couple of days, but that it could end up being as much as two or three weeks.

All this is particularly disturbing in light of the fact that I'm almost certain I've been recognized. Some of our fellow riders could not stop sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, and more than one person here has done a subtle double-take as Bill and I move through the streets. Not that we've spent too much time exploring the city—Bill's taking all of this much more calmly than I am, but I know he's worried too.

"Settle down," he says from his seat at the desk. "We're fine. You worry too much."

"I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation, Bill," I respond tightly. "My husband is very possessive, to say the least. If he finds out what we have done, he will make you wish you had never met me. And I'll be dragged back to New York."

His clear gaze wavers for a moment. "Claire, if I'm leaving you in Mexico, what's to stop him from finding you there? Taking you back home then?"

I keep my face smooth, but I feel like I could punch the wall. It's none of his concern, and I don't want to discuss it.

_Why's that, Claire? Is it because you don't want to admit this is just a giant temper tantrum?_

"Nothing," I interrupt my own thoughts. "Except maybe a desire to avoid a scene."

"Then why are you doing it?" he asks directly. I guess I can see it from his point of view. From the outside this trip looks like a waste of time, waste of money, and a waste of energy.

Fortunately for me, I've got a surplus of the first two. And the last one…well, I'm doing my best.

"Because I won't wait around doing nothing," I answer flatly. "This subject is closed."

Bill shrugs and leans back, still watching me. I walk to the bathroom for something to do, and he follows me, standing just outside the doorway to give me some privacy. My reflection stares back at me as I splash water on my face. Blonde hair, green eyes, smooth skin. I don't look any older than seventeen or eighteen, except maybe in the eyes. I'm haunted by the things I've done, by the things Sylar's done. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.

An abrupt burst of rage shoots through me, and I punch the mirror as hard as I can. It's cheap, and shatters all over the floor.

"Claire?" Bill comes in and sees me standing with chunks of glass in my knuckles. "Come over here, I'll clean this up."

"No, don't worry about it," I mutter. "Sorry." I crouch to start picking up the broken mirror, disposing of them as quickly as possible. He stands there until I rise to rinse the blood off my fist, pulling me to sit on the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I show him my hand, completely healed. "I'm fine."

He shakes his head, though. "That's not what I meant. Are you okay? I have to assume you broke that thing for a reason." I don't answer him, and he takes my hand gently. "Claire? You're not unbreakable, you know."

He's awfully nice. Nice enough that I let myself lean against him without feeling guilty. His arm moves around my shoulders, and I can shut my eyes and just breathe. I don't have to talk. I don't have to worry about anyone listening in on my thoughts or manipulating me. It's an odd mixture of relief and an undertone of mild…loneliness. But it's nice.

"I know you don't want to talk about this," he starts, "but I don't know if you heard the staff at the restaurant yesterday." Of course I heard them. Not that we could hear much, but the words 'Sylar' and 'wife' were distinct. I shiver involuntarily.

"I'll protect you," he says quietly. I suppress a snort at his confidence, but it does sound good—the idea of being pampered and protected. But it's not realistic. I haven't told Bill, but my husband won't let me go unpunished for this any more than he'd spare Bill. But then, Gabriel's never treated me the way Bill does. And with that in mind, I turn my face up to his. He kisses me chastely before pulling away.

"It isn't right," he says with a rueful smile. "You're vulnerable right now, and it would be taking advantage." He chews on his lower lip, stands, and stretches. "Let's go get something to eat."

I take his hand and follow him, more interested than ever by this man who is so different than the one I've known for so long.

* * *

**A/N: ****We are back, thank you for you patience. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	8. May 2547

MAY 2547

Memphis sucks. As it turns out, the train has decided to take weeks, not days. Bill and I have been in this gad-damned place for thirteen days now, and each day the attendant at the station has assured us that the next train is "just a hop and a skip away." I want to tear her overly curled, kinky red hair out of her head and shove it down her throat until her eyes glaze over. Still, our persistence has finally paid off. This morning the attendant was able to promise us that the train would be in tomorrow. I am thrilled.

So now we only have one more day to kill. It's harder than one might think. Bill and I have decided that, given the whispers, it's prudent to stay indoors for as much of the time as possible. He picked up a deck of cards on the third night, and we've been amusing ourselves with it ever since. I think we must have played at least a hundred games of canasta by now, a game I always made fun of my mother for playing. Of course, my mother played with a Pomeranian as her opponent. I like to think I've improved on her style, even if, and I do acknowledge this, I am equally as unbalanced these days as she once was.

Thankfully, we've put away the deck for the night and are readying ourselves for bed. We've worked out a nice little schedule around bedtime. I get the shower first, and while he showers I dress in the doorway, brushing and braiding my hair still damp and pinning it into a bun at the base of my neck. The first night, I hadn't done anything with it and when I'd woken it had been splayed across Bills chest. I remember quite suddenly the way I'd jumped. It had reminded me too much of mornings with Gabriel… I've been taming it ever since.

The shower turns off and Bill steps out, grabbing his towel from off the rack and wrapping it around his hips. I let myself stare curiously as he moves. I think he knows I've been sneaking peeks at him for the past few days, but he's kind enough not to mention it. I just can't help myself. He's the only man I've ever really had a chance to look at other than Sylar. I'm not claiming I've been a model of virtue. I had a few quick fucks when Sylar was away all those years… but I never stopped to drink in the sight of them. I guess I always knew they would end up dead by my monsters hand. What was the use?

But now I let myself look. He's so different from the man whose body I know inside and out. He's shorter than Sylar, but no less built. Bill has muscles everywhere, it's almost disconcerting. I know that he could probably break my bones without effort. Where Sylar is lithe, tones, and olive skinned with a masculine dusting of coarse, dark hair… Bill is pale and hairless, his skin smooth and stretched over taut lines. His age is only evident on his face and a bit around his stomach where the lines on his abdomen have begun to go soft. And despite it all, how pleasant his is to look at, how comfortingly normal… I can't get the sight of Gabriel splayed across our bed, his taut abdomen rippling and the muscles in his arm and legs straining as my lips encase his length and my hands trail across hard pecs.

I shake my head, willing myself to think of something, anything else.

And so I continue to stare, even has Bill's eyes fall on my face and he clears his throat. I try to imagine touching him, running my hands over his skin and pressing my lips to his and sighing. And I can, I actually can. And the thought is nice, comforting, normal. I grin.

"What," he asks, smiling and adjusting the towel around his waist. His eyes crinkle at the edges and I can see the beginnings of crows feet there. Even that makes me feel oddly happy. This man in front of me is aging, dying, going the same way as the rest of the world. The same way as my mother, my father, my brother and my son. It seems so wonderful to me.

"Nothing," I say, still smiling stupidly as I finish pinning up my braid.

Bill arches a brow and gives me a quizzical smile.

"Sometimes, I don't get you, Claire," he says.

"Is that a bad thing?" my own coyness surprises me. Am I… flirting?

Bill chuckles and takes a few steps toward me. I feel my stomach tighten and what I recognize as arousal spiral low in my belly. How curious.

What is it about this man that has my thighs tensing and the blood rushing to pool between them? He's not what I'm used to. There is calculating glint in his eye, no thirst around the corners of his mouth that let me know he wants to gobble me up. He's not studying me with his head tilted slightly to one side. His hands aren't electricity reaching towards me… There's no love behind those clear blue eyes.

But there is desire, an honest, clean desire that tells me he want me.

"No," he admits, standing right in front of me. My back is to the sink and his face is inches from mine. "I actually kind of like it," he breathes, eyes fluttering closed.

And then his lips are on mine. They're wide and soft and warm. His hands reach around to lift me by the waist, settling me onto the counter top and stepping between my thighs. The pulse between my legs is pounding pleasantly and there's blood rushing by my ears. Only now, it's on the inside of my body.

"Claire, if you're not ready I—"

I cut him off with another kiss, tracing his lips with my tongue and feeling my arousal build. Yes. This is what I've been looking for, this simple need, this normal arousal.

"Fuck me, Bill," I murmur in his ear. His eyes widen, but my words seem to excite him, because he nods, pulling me roughly from the sink and carrying me to the bedroom. My legs are wrapped around his hips and his towel is long forgotten on the bathroom floor.

And in that motel room, the one we'd been playing boring old canasta in for the last two weeks, the one with the stained mattress and the cool air that cost us an extra battery… I come. I orgasm for the first time with a man who is not my husband.

And I laugh.

* * *

**A/N: ****Uh oh. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	9. June 2547

EARLY JUNE 2547

Our delayed trip to Dallas was relatively uneventful. We made it onto our next train, barely, and now we're headed to Mexico City. It's the longest part of our trip, with a few more little stops in Texas and probably some more in Mexico. For the most part, though, it should be smooth sailing from now on.

I let my mind wander lazily to the time when I can finally see my Dani again. They've been busy down there, but I think at this point things have started to settle for them. I can't wait to see everything they've accomplished.

Bill squeezes my hip, bringing me back to reality. He chuckles and kisses my head. "Off in dreamland, Claire?"

I smile and kiss him back. "Just excited to be on our way." We'll be across the old US-Mexico border within an hour, and I'm practically bouncing with anticipation. I can't help but feel that this is the beginning of a new life, the chance at normalcy that I never had, with a normal man who doesn't know every little detail of my life, and doesn't need to. It's thrilling, and I shove the image of Gabriel to the back of my mind. He's had chances, plenty of them. He should have known better than to think that I would wait at home for him, to be content with scraps of his precious time.

I have to keep Gabriel out of my head. Bill and I have been sleeping together for a little while now, and it wouldn't be right to compare him to my husband. I like what I do with Bill, but too often I feel…unsatisfied, somehow. Not that he's a bad lover—he's tender, caring and considerate. But if I were to be blatantly honest with myself, he's too damn careful. He treats me as though I'm fragile, and more than once I've almost asked him to be just a little less gentle and a little more rough. He never would, though. I can practically see the look of distaste in response to that request. After all, it's not a _normal_ desire. It's something that's been cultivated as part of a perverse sadomasochistic relationship—not exactly something I can introduce to a blissfully normal person.

The train is pulling through a little station in an ancient-looking border town. It looks like something I would've seen in a Western movie when I was a kid. I wouldn't be surprised to see a couple of cowboys riding on horseback along the dirt roads. As the train stops for a short break, the few other people that shared the car with us grab their luggage and disembark.

"I'd guess we're going to be pretty solitary for most of the way to Mexico," Bill says. "Most folks this way don't look as though they can afford to go anyplace." He's right. The people this far south are still as dirt-poor as their ancestors. He twines his fingers with mine, kissing me again as the train lurches forward to continue the journey.

It isn't until the car jolts again and I can hear the screech of metal farther down the line that I realize something is wrong.

"Claire!" I can hear Sylar's voice calling out. It's the only thing I hear, in fact, before the train jerks again and I see a car full of people land several hundred feet away.

"Shit." I grab Bill's hand and move for the door. "We need to move." Another shriek, and the entire line of cars is derailed. I'm disoriented for a moment, but Bill is bleeding from a gash in his head. "Shit." He sits up, though.

"Let's go." He takes my hand again and we manage to climb out of the wreckage. There are screaming people all around us and parts of the train have caught fire.

"Claire!" He's casually throwing fireballs, seemingly oblivious to the panic he's causing. "If you don't come out, these people will die." Citizens of the town have joined the passengers, and the streets are a mad stampede of hysterical terror. I ignore everything, though, and keep running.

Bill, however, has slowed significantly. "My head's kinda woozy, Claire," he pants.

"We can't slow down, Bill." But he stumbles and falls on the side of the street.

"I can't run anymore." His head is bleeding more freely now, and we're practically sitting ducks.

"Bill, look at me." I hold his face between my hands, focusing on his eyes. "What exactly are the limits of your power?" He looks away for a moment, brow furrowed.

"I can't get it past five feet, but that's not what we want right now anyway. As long as we're both shielded, he shouldn't be able to see us or locate us using his abilities, but he might be able to hear. Claire," he looks back at me, "If he walks within my shield, there's nothing to stop him from seeing us."

I'm doing my best to keep my face blank and my voice calm, but someplace inside of me has already begun to panic. "Then keep it as close around us as you can." I pull his body against mine, trying to minimize the area we need. I look up to see that Sylar is stalking up and down the streets, moving closer to us.

Our shield seems to flicker, making everything hazy. I glance sharply at Bill; his eyes are glassy and losing focus. Damn.

"Claire," my husband calls, more quietly this time. There are still wounded people lying helpless, but for the most part anyone who can move has cleared the streets. "I know you can hear me." He moves within ten feet of us. I feel like a guppy in a shark tank as he circles closer and closer. He stops, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to move. He doesn't.

"I'd love to hear the lies you've told yourself this time. What excuse did you use when you hired your shield?" He takes another step forward, then turns. Bill's shield wavers for less than a millisecond when Sylar's back is turned. Shit. Did he see us?

Sylar turns again and walks purposefully in our direction. He can't be more than three feet away as he faces the desert. Then he looks down, to his left. Right at me.

"Hello, Claire."

* * *

**A/N: ****Uh oh. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	10. June 2547 2

_Seconds Later…_

His hand is in my hair before I have a chance to react, and I can feel myself being yanked up by the roots. The pain sears. I scream, and reach up, my hands close around his wrist and my nails dig into skin. I feel it give and I yank down, stripping flesh from hands. Sylar grunts, and then we're falling sideways onto the hard earth.

Bill has lunged at us, catching Sylar in the chest and sending us tumbling sideways. I scream again, and this time there are words.

"Bill!" I yell, "Run!" He looks confused for just a second before Sylar lights him up like a Christmas tree. Blue volts of electricity are pulsing though him, and his jaw is clenched so hard I hear teeth crack.

"Sylar stop it!" I'm screaming so loud I'm barely audible, even so, the sound is swallowed up by an explosion down the track. The fire reached cargo and it's explosive. A child is crying somewhere in the distance.

The electricity stops and Bill falls to the ground, his body prone. I rush to check a pulse, but that hand tangles in my hair again and my feet slip out from under me. My legs scrape along the ground as I fall and I'm yanked viciously up again.

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me," he hisses in my ear. His breath is hot against my skin and he wraps one strong arm beneath my breasts, yanking me back against him and jarring me. "That _is _what this little rebellion has been about, isn't it? You feeling neglected?"

Before I know it, I'm flying to the ground at an unnatural speed. I feel my body give way beneath me. Broken cheek and jaw, hairline crack in the skull. Five loose teeth, every rib broken, arm dislocated and femur broken in half. There's blood pooling beneath me.

Before I have a chance to heal, his booted foot is grinding into the middle of my back, his hand pushing my face into the dirt.

"You didn't honestly think you could outrun me, did you, Darling?" he whispers, the back of one hand caressing my bloodied cheek. I'm not healing and I can feel life slipping slowly away. "Of course not," he assures me, "My wife is much too intelligent for that."

And then there's a blinding pain at the base of my neck and everything goes black.

I wake up right away to the feel of something thick being slid from my neck and the sound of it dropping onto a mettle surface. There's a bright light shining down at me and I can feel myself healing as deft hands tuck ribs back into place and set my arms at the right angles.

I'm sore and I'm having trouble seeing because of the light. There's the overwhelming scent of blood, sweat and bleach in the room. It makes me want to vomit.

Someone steps into the light, casting a long shadow over me and obscuring their features, but I know who it is. I can see now that I'm on my back resting on a metal slab, the kind they use in morgues and funeral homes. My wrists are chained above my head and my ankles secured below.

"Good morning, Claire," Sylar greets me congenially, kicking the bottom of the slab. It spins unexpectedly and my world turns as I am set upright, hands stretched to the ceiling as the cuffs cut into my skin and my shoulders object to the weight of my body. But I slide down as far as I can anyway and am left dangling there.

Sylar steps out of the direct light and puts his hand on it, turning it enough to keep it from blinding me. I can see him now. He's dressed in dark blue jeans and a long sleeved, black shirt. There's what looks like a week's worth of growth on his chin. If I'm being honest with myself, he's not looking his best. Still. He's incredibly handsome, even with that murderous gleam in his eyes. I try to cut off that line of thought as quickly as possible and remind myself of what he's done.

_He abandoned you, Claire. He's a slimy bastard who doesn't give a damn about you. _

He laughs taking a few steps forward and leaning against my body. The table shifts and I'm hanging at such an angle that he can look me straight in the eye without stooping.

"Just as insecure as ever, aren't we sweet-heart?" he murmurs against my cheek. His stubble scrapes my skin and I shiver.

"Cut the shit and let me go, Sylar. I'm going to see Dani," I hiss.

He arches a brow, one of his hands trailing from my hip up to my breast and back down again.

"I don't think so," he muses. "I won't have you stifling our daughter like some sort of deranged and over-bearing mother. I got quite enough of that from my own."

I roll my eyes as I feel something sharp and cold sink into my stomach. A knife.

I spit in his face. Blood lands on his brow.

He chuckles and wipes it off with the back of his hand, transferring it back to my face where he smears it roughly.

"Gabriel Gray," my voice has gone hard as steel. I know this man. I've spent decades living with him, fucking him, and to my dismay, loving him. He doesn't scare me anymore.

He arches a brow again.

"Let me the fuck go," I order, "I. Don't. Want. You. Anymore." I stress each word and pause between them.

He withdraws the knife slowly, licking the blade and acting like my blood is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

"Since when has what you _want _mattered?" he asks. "Besides, I have a gift for you," he continues.

He turns the light again and then I see him.

Bill is on a similar slab to mine, dangling by his wrists, his chest rising and falling slowly and his eyes darting around erratically. Obviously Sylar has healed him. I doubt he'd be alive otherwise.

I stop breathing.

"What," Sylar asks, "You don't like my gift? You liked him well enough when you were fucking him."

My eyes widen and I'm at a loss for words.

"Don't act so surprised," he chides. "You reeked of him when I finally found you. He's practically made himself a home between your thighs."

And despite my anger, I am mortified. There are some emotions even I can't just will away. The shame I feel at my husband and only other lover's disgust after I've slept with another man…is one of those emotions.

"But that's not the point here," he continues. "You've been a slut, but there's plenty of time to punish you for that later."

Despite myself, I shiver in anticipation.

"What I have here, is an opportunity to please you. You wanted to live a normal life, _Darling,_" There is venom in his voice, "You wanted to bond with this man behind me, get to know him and fuck him, and maybe even love him. So let me aid you in the process." He spins abruptly and I try to cry out but he's taken control of me and forced me to look at a blank white wall across from me. And then, he's using one of the trivial abilities he loves on Bill, and there are images projecting from Bill's mind to the wall.

There's us, writhing on a bed. My face as I come. And then my image shifts and there's another woman in bed with him. Red hair and freckled skin. She's overweight but there's love in her eyes. And there are children and they are jumping on the bed and I know suddenly that those are his children and that is his wife.

There's a knife in my heart now, not because I loved him, but because he lied. My normal happy ending lied.

But I don't have time to dwell on it, because the images are changing and there are so many other women beneath him. God. He doesn't even care that he's married, that he made a commitment.

And finally, most devastating of all, he's there in an alley way, a girl no more than 13 pressed between him and the brick, crying.

And Sylar makes me watch as she sobs and writhes and then gets that dead look in her eye it took me centuries to shake off. Only she doesn't have the time, because when his nails dig into her dark skin it breaks and bleeds and doesn't heal.

"What do you think, Claire? What do you think of your happy little 'normal' decision? Was the sex good enough to ignore all of this? Must have been. He learned with children."

I vomit on my own shirt and the stench is overwhelming.

"That's gross," he says softly before flicking his fingers at Bill and sending me on a nauseating journey through a slide show of all my lovers worst moments.

It goes on for an hour, and by the end of it I've stopped crying and can't look at the pathetic slab of meat on the other side of the room.

When it is over, Sylar laughs, delighted.

"You are so easy," he says, running his fingers down my cheek and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"What are we going to do with you?" he asks. His face looks serious.

"Leave me alone," I say. My voice is hoarse.

He smiles sadly. "Never," he tells me. And he leaves me with a kiss before turning his back and heading over to the man I have dragged into it all.

As Bill starts screaming, I am simultaneously horrified and relieved by this man I have turned to so that I could forget my husband had betrayed me. And even though I have spent the past few weeks orgasming in his arms and telling him how much I appreciate him… the things I've been shown have made me loathe him.

I am satisfied, I decide, as his entrails drop to the floor.

* * *

**A/N: ****Uh oh. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	11. June 2547 3

_A week later…_

I wake up, disoriented. I've been pinned to the wall by his mind, and I can't see anything. My hair is greasy and disheveled, and my voice is hoarse. "Where am I?"

"It doesn't matter."

"How long have I been out?" My eyes are slowly adjusting, but I have no idea where I am.

His low chuckle reverberates off the walls, making it sound as though I'm surrounded. "I left the knife in for about a week." I ponder this for a minute. He let me decompose for an entire week. It's probably for the best—his temper's likely cooled off at least a little bit.

"Think again, Claire." Before I can register that his voice is right in my ear, his fist shoots out superhumanly fast, twisting my head until I hear the bones in my neck crack and break.

I can see through bleary eyes as my head rolls back into place. As bad as I feel, my husband doesn't look much better. He still hasn't shaved, and I think he's wearing the same clothes from the last time I saw him.

"Don't think I look too well, hmm? So sorry to disappoint," he hissed. "Perhaps the last month has been a little more tiring for me than for you, _my wife_."

"Is that how long it took you to find me?" I lay an edge of derision to my question. He doesn't miss it, and uses Elle's ability against me. My flesh is black and peeling within seconds, and the shreds of my clothes fall to the floor.

"You faithless little bitch," he growls, knife in hand. I can feel my skin being sliced as his hand travels lower and lower, and I have a horrifying realization of where the blade is headed. "After so long without a fix of your favorite drug…I think you'll appreciate it."

He sheathes the K-bar between my thighs, thrusting deep until his hand is pressed against my curls. I scream as he twists it and pulls it out, hitting my face with the flat of the blade.

"I cannot adequately express the frustration you have given me," he says in a normal tone of voice. "You are not stupid enough to have believed that you could outrun me, outsmart me, and just leave me behind."

"Leave _you_ behind?" I interrupt shrilly. "You left me! I didn't hear from you for over a year—not a single fucking word. And you weren't even around before then! You just stopped by between trips to share my bed."

"You may have noticed, Claire, that taking over and organizing the whole world takes quite a lot of time and energy. I apologize if I didn't give enough attention to you," he says nastily. "But if you were so lonely, it would seem that you found someone to fill your void. Was he everything you ever wanted?"

"Shut up, Sylar. I know it must be hard to hear, but you're not what I want anymore. How many times do you want me to repeat it?"

"Until you can make me believe it, dearest," he shoots back. He stops the conversation by lighting my hair on fire, watching it grow back with a satisfied grin. Finally he releases me from the wall. My legs buckle, weak from disuse, before I catch myself and lean against the stone.

His fingers twitch as though flipping a light switch, and I writhe in agony as every one of my nerves are overloaded with pain signals. My muscles spasm erratically as he watches me shriek.

"I'm not scared of you…Sylar," I gasp when I can breathe again. He lifts me until I can look directly into his eyes. Surprisingly, they are not the icy orbs I expected; instead they are reflections of a hot anger, barely controlled.

"Are you waiting for me to congratulate you?"

I don't answer him; I can't while he's strangling me.

"And what makes you so sure that this is Sylar's reaction?" he goes on. "No one is ever happy to come home to an empty house and a cheating wife. That isn't just a characteristic of sociopaths."

His words would bring on a fresh assault of guilt, but I remind myself again. _He left you, Claire. He's just pissed that he isn't getting his way._

"Oh really?" he challenges, backhanding me. He freezes me on my feet before dislocating both of my arms with his brute strength. Even still, I look at him and feel pity for this man who wants so badly to be able to undo what I've done.

"Then don't look at me. Your pity is worthless." My hands move on his strings as my thumbs dig into the corners of my eyes, blinding me. By the time they've regrown, I'm whimpering on my knees.

"Now listen to me. Open your eyes." He forces my head upward at a painful angle. "That's better. You, my little wife, are the most insecure person on the planet, and the only one I've ever met who can compete with me in the sick and twisted department. And that is why I am generously choosing to share this information with you."

"I stopped by in Africa, after spending five months in Asia. I was overtaken by a band of primitives with rather impressive powers. They had me locked up, on drugs, until a month ago, when one of the guards got sloppy."

I'm staring dumbly. I don't understand what he's saying. Someone…someone was stronger than Sylar?

"You think I wanted to leave you alone for almost two years?" His words are bitter and full of pain—pain that I haven't been able to hear until now. "No, Claire. I had to slaughter an entire village to get out of that hellhole, only to come back and find you gone. And all anyone could tell me was that you had disappeared with someone they'd never seen before. And then I finally find you, find you fucking some stupid idea of a normal life." His voice has dropped to a rough, shameful tone. It is the tone that has accompanied all of his lowest, most naked moments, and I feel a strong desire to hold him against me in spite of everything he's done.

"I can never give you normalcy."

With that admission, he hangs his head. And I feel…wretched. I am the most horrible creature, and the overwhelming shame and guilt is crushing me under its weight. I know that whatever I say now will not be good enough, but I can't let the silence continue.

"Gabriel." I crawl closer to him. "Please…please punish me. I deserve whatever you have. I'm so sorry."

I lie there and weep, exhausted as he looks at me with dark eyes.

* * *

**A/N: ****Uh oh. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	12. June 2547 4

LATE JUNE 2547

He took me home after that, after I begged to be punished and felt as if my heart would break. We didn't speak on the flight to New York. He cradled me in his arms the entire way, jaw clenched and refusing to look at me. I felt so ashamed, so confused. How could things have gone so terribly wrong in such a short amount of time? I had been so sure I had been right, so positive that this time I was justified in hating him and had enough fuel to do so for the rest of my life. And then… and then he'd done just as he always had. He had surprised me, turned my world upside down, and made me his.

Why was I so selfish? Why couldn't I focus on something outside of myself for even a second? Not even motherhood had cured me of my narcissism.

I didn't delude myself into thinking I had never been the victim. God and anyone else sick enough to direct my life knew that what Sylar had done to me, what he'd torn me from and molded me into and the way he had done it. But I'd gotten past all of that , and had managed to build from the remnants of my person, a life. It was not a normal life, and I was beginning to think that no matter how much masquerading I did, it never would be.

Twenty plus years with Danielle and Gabriel—and it had been for nothing. My husband, the one who had become the foundation of my world, had gone on a few long road trips, gotten kidnapped by some sort of African tribe, and I had left. I, who had worked harder than anyone to make our life normal, had let my old insecurities destroy it all in a few months.

I really was a faithless bitch.

And now, back in our home in Manhattan, Gabriel seems determined to forget it all.

And so today, I am going to offer myself to him. I have stripped naked and am standing in the living-room. I've brought out all of his favorite tools and laid them on the coffee table. I've tied up my hair to keep it from interfering, and I've even pierced a few unmentionable places in hopes of enticing him.

But he hasn't come home yet, he's meeting with a few of his generals somewhere in the city. So I stand stiffly on the carpet, shifting my weight from foot to foot every now and again when I become uncomfortable.

He doesn't arrive for several hours, but I don't begrudge him. I feel like a penitent, suffering for my sins and for forgiveness.

I hear him before I see him. He lands on the porch, pauses for a moment and sighs. The front door unlocks and he steps into the room. Light floods in around him. He looks like an angel enveloped in warmth. If only he'd feel warm towards me.

"Claire," his voice is soft, hoarse. The door shuts behind him and I can see him more clearly. He looks so tired and worn. In all my hundreds of years I've only seen him this way once… just after I lost the baby.

"Gabriel," I say. I try to sound sultry. "I thought you might want to de-stress," I say, "You always liked to do that after diplomatic meetings before."

"This isn't before, Claire," he snaps.

I jump. He sounds so harsh, and for a moment I feel hopeful. Maybe he'll snap and take this sadness out on my body. I can take it.

"Christ," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"Gabriel—"

"Please put these things away," he says softly before making his way through the room and up towards the bedroom.

I try to stem the flow of tears before they come, but I guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was, because they flow freely down my face, making my vision blurry as I stow the things away and pull my robe on. I leave the piercings in. Penitence.

How did we get to this place? How did I break us? How did I break him? Why, God why, is my husband in pain? My husband who is strong, domineering, sadistic, and passionate.

My husband who is fragile.

I of all people should have known. I who have been hurt more times than anyone could count. I should have known. I should have known there was no outrunning him, not when he loved me so intensely. Not when I needed him to be complete. Not when running could break him into thousands of little irreparable pieces.

He is right. He cannot give me normalcy. But is normalcy enough? Is a normal life without him worth it? I tried it with Bill. It was empty. It was false. There was no love there, no pleasure and pain. No passion.

What have I done?

I've thrown everything that meant anything to me away. I let my imbalances, my stupid fucking complexes destroy my life.

And now I have to fix it. No matter what. I have to fix this. I have to fix us.

Because without him… without him I don't know how to live. I don't know how to breathe. I don't know how to be myself when he's not near me. And he hasn't been near me since we came home, not emotionally and not physically when he could help it.

He's been polite but dispassionate. We haven't talked about what happened.

And I feel so goddamned lost, so helpless.

"Oh Gabriel," I sigh, sinking down to my knees by the couch and letting my face tilt upwards toward the ceiling. He's there, above the plaster and the wood, sleeping? Ignoring me.

Trying to forget.

And I pray, facing the only God I've ever known and wondering if he even bothers to listen anymore.

_Please, God, let me fix this. Let me fix us. Please._

* * *

**A/N: Just a reminder that the end is nigh. I think there's something like ten posts left. We are at a stopping point in our writing where it makes sense to stop... we may decide to write an epilogue or one shots surrounding the series in the future. We'll ask what you think more once you read the finale. ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	13. July 2547

JULY 2547

I used to cry a lot more than I do now. When we were first married, I couldn't get through a day without it—provided my eyes were under my own control. Some days they weren't. But I learned to hold in most of my tears when it occurred to me that some part of him relished the sight of them. I learned to deny him at least that one thing, and take those tiny victories for myself. It became a habit, and I barely remember the girl I was, the girl who cried over her inability to live a normal life.

And of course, now I want to cry all the time. He barely speaks at all when he's home, and I don't know what to do. My last attempt at seduction was such a failure that I'm afraid to try too much. I don't have the words to apologize, and my choice of actions is what brought us here in the first place.

I'm not sleeping much these days. He comes home and goes straight upstairs, and I lie awake on the couch every night. The one time I tried to go in and talk to him, I found the door locked. Since then I haven't bothered.

I don't really leave the house, either. He hasn't locked me in—in fact, he does nothing at all to me. Doesn't physically touch me, doesn't control my actions; as far as I know, he doesn't even listen in on my thoughts anymore. He has done nothing to keep me here, except completely ignore me. And I can't handle that, not when I know how badly I've hurt him. But I deserve his dismissal, his lack of interest. I deserve anything he could think of. He just doesn't think of me at all.

He comes home one night and I practically ambush him as he walks in the door.

"Gabriel, please. Please say something to me," I beg, fully aware of how desperate I look. If everything were normal, Sylar would delight in the state I am in. But everything is not normal, and my husband is obviously not happy to see me in this or any other mood.

"What do you want me to say, Claire?" he asks. He means it literally; he is so disassociated from this conversation that I may as well be talking to a sock puppet.

"Anything. Tell me you're angry and hurt and that I deserve to be left alone forever. Tell me you hate me; but for God's sake just talk to me," I plead. "Please. I just want you to tell me how wrong I was."

He stares at me blankly. "If you already know those things, then why would you need me to speak them aloud?" He moves as if to walk past me, but I move with him and he stops.

"Wait just a minute," I argue. "If you hate me so much that you no longer want me around, then why did you bring me back at all?" My question, meant only to discern his purposes, backfires on me.

"I never said either of those things to you," he says lifelessly. "But if you like, I can get Kale to pick you up by tomorrow night. You can live with them, just as you planned."

"No, I—that's not what I'm saying," I stumble over my words, confused and getting more so by the second. "You…you still care about me?"

Gabriel grits his teeth and for a minute I can see frustration in his features. "Do I have to spell everything out for you? You are still here because _you belong to me_." I stare helplessly at him as he pushes past me, muttering under his breath, "And we don't know how to live without each other."

He's right. But I don't know how to live like this, either. If I were convinced that this is some kind of retaliation for my betrayal, I could serve my sentence quietly and wait for it to be over. But as far as I can tell, my husband's only concern is his overwhelming misery, and there is no end in sight.

I won't let him go tonight, though. I have to do something, if only to know that I tried. I climb the stairs after him and try the door, surprised to find it unlocked. He is sitting on the bed, where he looks up at me.

"Can I help you?" he asks with relative civility. His eyes are guarded; he thought we were done speaking for the night.

"I don't know what to fucking do, Gabriel," I snap. "I don't know whether I'm supposed to offer myself as a sacrifice to your darker half or beg forgiveness, and I don't know how many ways or how many times I can say 'I'm sorry', but I am. I wish like hell that I hadn't hurt you, but I can't take it back and you know that.

"You haven't talked to me or touched me since…well, you know." I can feel tears welling up now. _Dammit, just talk to him_. "Please tell me how I can fix this. Tell me what to do. I'll do anything."

He looks at me, eyes narrowing and sadness giving way to anger. "What exactly do you want me to tell you, Claire? Yes, I am doing my best to give you your goddamn space. Isn't that what you wanted—to get away from me? To be normal?" He stands and steps toward me, glowering. "You think you can do whatever you want and that I'll take care of it and make it better. Tell me, Claire, how am I supposed to fix this for you?"

"I—I just want you to do whatever you want…whatever you have to do to be able to forgive me," I answer as steadily as I can. The emotion drains out of him visibly and he slumps.

"You know me well enough to know that forgiveness has never been my strong suit." He sounds truly sorry, but resigned. I reach for him and he recoils, drawing back from the offending hand.

"Please leave me alone," he whispers.

I feel as though each breath is torn out of me forcibly. My knees give out in the hallway and I sit on the carpet and sob. My hand reaches for the knife on my belt as though of its own volition, and I let my blood drip while I cry. I can hear him breathing on the other side of the door as he struggles for the control that I've already lost.

* * *

**A/N:Don't be sad! You're support meand the world to us, all of you. And when this series ends, we're not going to stop writing. ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	14. August 2547

August 2547

I don't really know how I got here. I remember dressing myself. Short gold dress with heels so high I feel like a ballerina. I used paints and brushes on my lips and eyes, and now I hide behind the face of a whore.

Everyone is interested. Short, tall, fat, thin, old, young, married, single. No one's eyes can discriminate when they are looking at me. I'm truly surprised I'm not more recognizable by now though, but I suppose a seedy sex club is the last place on earth the people would expect to see their leader's wife.

I find the perfect person half way through the night. She's strung out on some sort of drug, eyes glazed and shirt dipping half way down her body, exposing her breasts and half of her stomach. She is a sloppy drunk and probably doesn't even remember where she is by now.

It's easy enough to lead her out of the place and onto the warm street. The air is heavy. It feels like rain.

We walk for a while and I support her as she leans against me, stumbling and dragging. I have to carry her half the time because she seems to forget that her feet are for walking every few minutes.

It takes us exactly twenty two minutes to reach the house, and by the time we're there she has reached some sort of emotional high. She's laughing manically with tears streaming down her face, and every so often the laughter will stop and she will just sob against my shoulder, tugging at my clothes and running her lips over my throat. She's saturated the front of my dress with her saliva.

I push the front door open effortlessly. He's not home yet and I'm grateful for it. It gives me time to prepare. I drop the drunk girl onto my couch, tell her not to move. She nods, not really hearing me as she begins to shake and then retch across my shoes. My nose wrinkles and I kick the heels off, leaving them in the puddle of vomit.

I climb the stairs, barefoot and quivering. There's something exciting in the air and I can feel it tingling across my skin in waves. Our bedroom door is unlocked and he is gone, but I slip in quietly anyway. Over the last few months, this room has become his more than mine, and I feel almost invasive as I cross to the chest at the end of our bed and open it.

Whips and chains and handcuffs on top. Rope on bottom. Candles, fletches, clamps and blindfolds strewn throughout. I reach for the bottom, grabbing and coiling the rope expertly around my arm.

I pause a moment in the doorway before going back downstairs. The room is a mess. The bed is unmade and he has books strewn everywhere. Dirty clothes are piled in one corner and old, used dishes cover the bureau. I can smell him in the air here. Spice and sweat and the salt of tears.

Downstairs, the girl has managed to cover herself in vomit and urine. Her red hair is matted to her face and her pale skin, covered in freckles, is clammy. It's an easy enough task, sitting her up and promising that if she only sits still and lets me tie her up she can go to sleep. She's so damned drugged up she hardly knows what she's seeing. I wonder momentarily whether it's a drug of her choice or if she was slipped something before I decide it doesn't matter and wrap the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

I make the knots tight, and when I'm done I admire my handiwork.

She's fallen onto the floor, hands tied tightly and mercilessly behind her back. If she ever wakes up again she'll be sore. But there is little chance of that.

I find a nice stationary somewhere in the house and write out a note before gagging her and attaching the paper to her forehead.

_I picked this up for you._

_You've been looking stressed._

_Love, Claire_

I leave her in the middle of the living room rug, three knives of varied lengths and widths on the inn table and several long and thin pieces of sharpened wood beside them.

She doesn't even struggle.

Gabriel comes home around three am. I listen from the bedroom as the front door opens and closes. I don't know where he's been, but I assume he's been doing something political. It does, after all, take quite a great deal of time to run the world.

No sound comes after that, not for several long minutes.

And finally, I hear it. The muffled echo of a stifled scream and a sickening thunk as organs hit the floor.

I smile, pleased for the first time in months. And something inside of me cheers. He's taken it, this gift I brought for him. It's the first time he hasn't rejected one of my overtures since we got home, and I don't care if its because he wants to kill and not because he forgives me.

He has been so sad, so broken. And maybe this will fix him. Maybe what it takes is murder, some good old fashioned gutting and the smell of death. Maybe then, after he's finished, he'll come upstairs and lay down beside me, smelling of blood and of entrails. Maybe he'll kiss me and tell me everything is better and that he's very pleased with me. Maybe he'll forgive me and love me here on our bed and make me his again.

But when he is finished, that isn't how it happens at all.

He comes up to the room. There is blood on his arms and his clothes. He's covered in it. He looks at me. I don't know what he's thinking and I want nothing more than to ask. But before I have the chance he's making his way to the bathroom. The door closes and the shower turns on.

I close my eyes for a moment, imagining the feel of him beside me with the spray of the hot water steaming around us.

And then I go down stairs, move the corpse to the kitchen, scrub the couch cushions, and lay down to sleep.

* * *

**A/N:Don't be sad! You're support meand the world to us, all of you. And when this series ends, we're not going to stop writing. ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	15. August 2547 2

LATE AUGUST 2547

It has taken every ounce of my self-control not to nag him or push too fast. I don't want him to feel suffocated or pressured, but this is driving me crazy.

The morning after my little gift to him, he looked at me before leaving for the day. If I didn't know better, I would say that he almost smiled. But he didn't talk to me when he came home that night. He's still withdrawn, still sad-looking. I just have to hope that he's going to get better. It's not like I have much of a choice.

I wipe the steam from the mirror and comb through my hair. Gabriel isn't home yet, so I took the opportunity to shower. It's my room too, after all. Or at least it is when he's not around. Which technically means that most of the time, this still counts as my bedroom too, but I feel like a stranger here. I feel out of place without him here, too.

I don't hear the front door open, so I'm startled to see him standing just outside the doorway of the bathroom. I blush, less from the fact that I'm naked and more because this is primarily his space now and I feel caught in the act.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, grabbing a towel so I can leave him alone. "I'm going. Good night." He reaches a long arm out to bar my exit, and I stop, clutching the towel around me and staring wide-eyed.

"Don't," he murmurs, and my heart starts racing. His eyes are warm and he licks his lips unconsciously as he lets his gaze wander down my body and back up. My body is on display for him, and it responds to the attention. The towel falls and I stretch to kiss him as we walk backwards to the bed. My fingers are busy with his jeans as he pulls his shirt over his head, and I give silent thanks that Gabriel came in while I was conveniently nude. Less clothing to shed. My breath catches as he lifts me and tosses me onto the bed. He sheds his boxers and joins me.

"Please," I beg as his fingers caress my skin. I haven't felt the kind of explosive pleasure that he can offer in so long, and he knows it. His eyes smolder as electricity crackles from his fingers to my skin, and my spine snaps up in ecstasy. After such a long time, I can hardly think past the feeling. "Oh, yes."

My husband smiles then, really smiles, and his mouth descends on mine as he sinks into me. His lips are warm against my skin as he grinds, and I think to myself that maybe my actions _have_ meant something these past months.

"You're thinking too hard," he groans as my muscles start to seize. He says something else then, but I can't hear him over the rushing sound in my ears. He shivers hard and rolls to lie next to me, breathing hard.

"I've missed you. Missed this." At my words, though, he stiffens and becomes cold. He sits up and I start hyperventilating. "Gabriel?" Why is he getting up? I don't understand.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I thought…I guess it's just my turn to be insecure." Even through my confusion, I can recognize his admission. I can see that he's trying.

That helps the empty feeling in my chest, but not by too much.

As he shuts the bathroom door behind him, I bite my lip and pull some old clothes on. Then I go downstairs and curl up on the sofa. After such an effort on his part, it's the least I can do to give him his space and some time. If he says I think too much, maybe I can help things by just staying put and being here for him.

And if occasional, incredible sex is the answer, that's okay too.

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter, but we should post again Wednesday. ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	16. October 2547

OCTOBER 2547

Once a week Gabriel makes the effort to rebuild the bridge that I nuked when I left. He always leaves both of us satisfied, and each time I think that maybe _this_ time things will work out. But every time he gets up and leaves me. And that part is extremely unsatisfying.

I'm not going to put up with it anymore. There is nothing I can say or do at this point that I haven't already tried, and none of it has worked. I'm going to change things tonight one way or the other. And if I gamble and lose…then maybe we should spend a few years apart. Until we can work out our separate issues. The thought makes me slightly nauseous.

He's been lying beside me for a couple of minutes, and I know I'm pushing my luck when I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his chest. Sure enough, he tenses and makes as if to sit up. _No more_. No more.

"Stop," I whisper. I can see him closing himself off, and it gives me the courage to keep going. I move quickly and straddle him, sitting firmly on his stomach. His eyes are surprised and wary.

He lets out a quiet grunt as my weight rests on his abdomen. "Please get off of me." He struggles to shift me to the side so that he can escape. I take a deep breath and smack him across the face as hard as I can. Shock gives way to anger, and he growls. "What the—"

"No," I interrupt, "just shut up." He glares at me murderously, but he doesn't move, other than to tighten his grip on my wrists.

"You…you…" I haven't thought too much about what I really need to say. "Just listen to me!"

"I _have_ been listening to you," he shouts. "You want to be normal, right? Well, normal people do shit like this. They stay together and make each other miserable."

"Just stop!" I shriek, swinging wildly at his face. "I hate you and I love you and you know that! Why don't you listen to my thoughts anymore? Why don't you stop me from hitting you right now? Why don't you do what you've always done?"

"Because that hasn't done a whole lot of good so far, has it? No matter what I do, you're still as insecure and dishonest as the day I met you." That is true. I'll probably spend the rest of my life wishing it weren't.

"That's only part of why you're mad, though." He turns his face away from me, and I fist my hands in his dark hair and yank his head so that I can see him. I can feel his anger and his frustration, and it infuriates me that he won't let me see it.

"I did a really bad thing. I know that, and I am sorry. I am sorrier than I know how to say." His eyes go cold, unwilling to hear the same thing yet again. _Guess again, honey._ "But I'm not apologizing anymore." Sure enough, his eyes widen just a fraction and his jaw clenches.

"I wasn't aware that there was a statute of limitations on this sort of thing," he says icily, jerking his head away from my hands as he speaks.

"Well, there is. Over the years, you have tortured and assaulted me on multiple occasions. You cut open my head and stole my power. You killed my family, every single person I was ever related to. You kidnapped me. You used me as your little puppet wife and raped me repeatedly." I stop for a second, taking a breath after this list of crimes. Crimes I no longer care about. He's staring at me, though, and I get to my point.

"I forgive you. Those were some of the most horrible things that ever happened to me, and I forgave you a long time ago. I mean, the whole marriage thing…for better or for worse, right? I can be happy with you—I have been before. But you have to be happy too." My voice wavers on this last sentence. Suddenly I feel more naked than I ever have, sitting on top of this man who has done his best to become a complete stranger.

"You forget, Claire," he says finally. "You've had several centuries. I've had a few months."

"You, Sylar, are all-fucking-powerful," I snap. "You are stronger, smarter, better than me. I expect you to be quicker at forgiveness than I was." I push on, knowing that what I say now could destroy the tenuous connection we have right now. "Watching you mope around since we came back has been the saddest, most pathetic thing I have ever seen. I did not marry the broken, self-pitying shell that lives here now. Snap out of it, and be the man I know."

He flings me backward and off of him, looming over me. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to be abandoned? To watch you protect that man from me?" His voice cracks and I am flooded with a fresh sense of remorse.

"You've closed yourself off from me," I respond as calmly as I can. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to experience that pain."

He shoots lightning at me from his hands while turning on every single pain sensor in my body. I scream helplessly as I lose the power to think of anything except how much it hurts. Finally, it stops and I collapse into a limp heap. I regain movement relatively quickly, and pull myself upright with a small amount of difficulty. My husband's eyes are full of tears and I can't help but reach out to him.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel."

His lips tremble and he moves shakily into my embrace. We cry together for a long time before he says quietly, "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

**A/N: ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	17. November 2547

_November 2547_

Forgiveness takes time and a whole hell of a lot of energy. I know this because I've been through it. Gabriel has just discovered it. Maybe it's because he's always been the bad guy, the one parents hide their children from and people spend their lives trying to kill. No one hurts Sylar, Sylar hurts them.

Until me. I don't know how I should feel about it now. Regret, definitely. Shame too. But there's also a sense of satisfaction here in the back of my head. He loves me, loves me so much that with one decision I can unmake the man who has had centuries to build himself.

It reassures me of our relationship in a way nothing else could have. In a way, his pain has been a blessing. Not that he sees it that way.

We don't really talk about the last few months. Instead we focus on today, and today we've received a letter from Dani.

"Dear Mama and Daddy," Gabriel reads aloud. The way the words thrill me make me feel older than ever. No one who looks as young as me should be waiting by to receive letters from her grown and married daughter, or as thrilled as I am to hear from her. The thought that I am an empty-nester disturbs me. Gabriel raises and eye-brow and grins at the thought.

"Sorry it's been a while since I've written. Things have been busy here in the South. I spend most of my time over-seeing the new orphanages, making sure they're well stocked and the children are developing well. I think maybe this is it, the purpose you guys used to mention when I was a little girl. I'm really helping these kids. You should have seen the state most of them were in when they came to us. The south didn't have the same system of orphanages we did in New York. Their children lived in the streets, begged (got nothing, and had unspeakable things done to them. It was ridiculous. I'm just happy they're safe now, but Kale wants me to mention to Daddy that there are 19 powerful's in the orphanages in our city alone, and he begs me (and I mean really begs because you both know how he hates writing letters himself) to let you know that he has found 'an honest to god replicator and three mother-fucking flame throwers' who will doubtless be invaluable in the future as soldiers."

I laugh at Kale's words. It sounds like him, crude, but effective.

"Anyway," Gabriel continues reading, "Things here are going well. I'll leave the political stuff to Kale's next emissary (who I am told will be arriving in New York along with this letter) and just let you know some trivial things.

"The coast is lovely and warm, even in the throes of winter. I know you're both probably green with envy. I remember freezing my bottom off around this time back home, and am certainly happy to be out of that kind of weather for a while. Still, I am looking forward to coming home very much. Which is why I'm planning a trip soon. By soon I mean just after the New Year. The trip will likely coincide with Kale's scheduled journey to meet with the Generals around the globe. As you (Daddy) have seen fit to deprive me of my husband for a month, you'll get to keep me company.

"Somehow, I think you planned it that way."

Gabriel stops, setting the letter down on the table in front of him. He's smiling.

"I did," he confides.

I laugh. The sound of it has become foreign in this house, but it is still pleasant. "How could you have known she wouldn't just stay in Mexico?" I ask, amused.

"Danielle is just like you, Claire. She hates being alone. A visit was the logical next step." His comment disturbs me, bringing back memories of exactly how much I hated being alone. I can see that he's thinking the same thing, because the corners of his beautiful mouth turn down and the crease between his eyes deepens.

"I'm glad she's coming," I say to alleviate the tension. Gabriel nods.

"Me too."

I motion to the letter.

"What else does it say?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "You can finish reading it if you like." And with that, he rises, making his way from the room. I catch him by the arm as he passes me. Things have not been miserable since I challenged him. Since we made things right between us. But now and then Gabriel will have moments of despondency, when he is reminded of my betrayal. I try to take his mind off of it.

"Gabriel," I say, lilting my voice a little and speaking in a strong southern accent.

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at my hand on his arm and then at my face. I can tell by his expression that he's interested.

"I know you're a big," I stand up and my chair scrapes along the floor, "bad," my fingers walk from his arm up to his shoulder, "scary," I take a step closer to him so that I'm craning my head back just to meet his gaze, "Teacher," his brows knit together and he smirks. "And I'm just a cheerleader… but I would really like to earn some extra credit."

I can see him thinking about it, see the way his expression wars between amusement and confusion… we've never really roll played before; only recently has the idea occurred to me as something I can use to spice up our sex life and distract him… but in the end, he makes the decision I was hoping for. Sex is an awfully big enticement.

"Well, Miss… umm…" He's tongue tied, my leader-of-the-not-so-free-world husband is tongue tied.

"Bennet," I supply.

"Yes, Miss Bennet," he is trying to get into character, but I can see that he's not quite sure what kind of character that's supposed to be. He's… unsure of himself? It's quite endearing and not something I've ever really seen coming from him in a sexual situation. It's exhilarating. 

I help him out a little. "I know you're the strictest, most terrifying teacher in school, but I really need to get an A in this class if I want to keep cheering."

And now he smirks. My husband is excellent at strict and terrifying.

"And you thought… what exactly?"

"I don't know, Mr. Gray, I thought maybe you could give me something to do for more points?"

Gabriel takes a step back, folding both hands behind his back and staring down at me. I know he's playing the game, but the withering stare still makes me feel inadequate.

"And you thought I'd just have you do some make up work and then give you an A? A few papers won't make up for all the time you've spent in my classroom teasing football players, Miss. Bennet. Maybe if you had spent a little more time studying and less sleeping around, you would be in this… position."

I lower my eyes, shamed. "Yes sir," I say meekly.

His eyes soften and he replaces the cold scrutiny with a calculating heat, "However," he says softly, "If you would be willing to complete a few… extra-curricular assignments for me… I might be convinced to over-look your poor performance and… give your grade a face lift."

I gulp, trying my best to look like a terrified teenager. I think with my body I am probably managing.

"Well, Miss. Bennet?" he asks.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Gray. I'd do _anything _to get better marks."

He chuckles darkly. "Oh you'll have better marks, all right," he says, "All. Over. Your. Body."

I know then that he's not thinking of the past any more. I am immensely satisfied.

* * *

**A/N: ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	18. January 2548

JANUARY 2548

The men are in meetings all day today, which means I have my daughter all to myself. It's absolute bliss. We had lunch at a nice place and now we're back at the house hanging out.

Eventually, though, I knew she would want to know what happened. And she does.

"Wow, Mama," she says when I finish. "That is…was it really so bad?"

"What I did was wrong, but you have to understand that my past experiences with your father have not led me to be the most trusting person. You know our relationship is…weird." I bury my head in my hands and moan, "Really, really weird."

She reaches out and rubs my shoulder. "It's okay, Mama. I think every marriage has its own peculiarities. You and Daddy are just a little more unusual than some. And I love you for it." I absorb what she's said. My parents' relationship was certainly not a paragon of virtue. Neither was my biological father's marriage to his wife—my existence is proof of that. If Dani can recognize the oddity of her own parents' relationship, and still love us both…we managed to do pretty well by her.

"I love you too, Dani," I tell her past the lump in my throat. "So how are things down in Mexico?"

"Oh, I love it. It's so warm and beautiful. We live next to the ocean and can go swimming whenever we want, and the people are wonderful. We're just really very happy…I think we could live there forever," she ends with a self-deprecating smile. While 'forever' is just an expression for most people, it carries some weight for us.

"And Kale enjoys it there too?"

"He whines about the heat in the summer and how the humidity messes up his hair, but he likes the area and most of the time he loves his job. He just doesn't like when people are stupid." Dani rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, reminding me of her young age and dramatic personality.

She bites her lip now and looks at me through her lashes. "Mom? Did you love him? The man who helped you?"

I sigh. I should have known it wouldn't be a simple explanation. "No honey. I think it's great that you and Kale waited for each other, and that sex and love go hand in hand for you, but it really hasn't for me. It wasn't love when your dad and I were first married, or when I left him the first time, and it definitely wasn't love with Bill. But I do love your father, and he's an important part of who I am. I've just managed to forget that a couple of times."

Dani leans over and kisses me before we move on to an easier subject. She tells me more about her home and her job. It makes me smile to see how her eyes shine whenever she talks about the orphans and the work she does with them. She's so obviously happy, and I thank God all over again for letting my baby be free from the problems that have made my life difficult. Of course, she's got a few hundred years.

We're making dinner in the kitchen when Gabriel and Kale get home. Now that things between us have mended, he makes an effort to get home at a reasonable hour, but it's still early. No doubt Kale wanted to see his wife before he has to leave to continue his long string of meetings across the world. Dani goes to greet them, but I stay where I am. No need to rush them as soon as they walk in.

"Not that I'm whining, or course…but will dinner be ready soon, Claire?" I look up to my son-in-law's hopeful and slightly pitiful gaze. I stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and hug him.

"Are you not eating enough, Kale?"

"I do all right," he says, "but I'm looking at a month of probably-terrible food and I'm trying to stock up ahead of time." He pouts for my benefit, and I hand him a roll. He grins and kisses my head. "Thanks Claire."

He's a good man, but so often I see the little boy who followed Dani everywhere or the teenager who obeyed Gabriel almost unfailingly. Almost as though he were meant to be part of the family. I shake my head and rub my arms. I must be getting old, if I can get lost in nostalgia as easily as that.

Dani rejoins me so we can put food on the table, since clearly her husband and probably mine are starving to death. The conversation is light and easy, much as it used to be. We laugh and talk about the separate lives that we've had to build now that we're apart. Kale goes over his itinerary with Gabriel and talks about all the places he's going. That's what gets me thinking. Considering my rather lengthy life, I haven't done as much traveling as I would have liked. Maybe Gabriel could take me to his next foreign diplomacy meeting, or we could go on vacation. That might be nice.

Dessert passes too quickly and before long we are heading up to our rooms. Kale shakes Gabriel's hand and hugs me; he'll be leaving early in the morning, and neither of us are really early risers. He and Dani disappear behind the door of the guest bedroom.

"She's a little more attached to him than the last time we saw her," Gabriel comments after closing the door.

"Is she unhappy to be staying here instead of going with him?" I ask, pulling my hair down and brushing through it.

"No. She's glad to be here and see us. She just doesn't spend very much time away from him, that's all. Danielle will be fine."

"I'm sure." I wriggle into my nightgown and kiss him good night. We crawl into bed and he flicks the light off. I don't think I'll bring up the travel idea tonight. Maybe I'll give it some more thought before talking to him about it.

His arm comes around and pulls my back flush against him. "Silly girl," he murmurs, "I'm not ignoring you anymore." I guess I don't need to worry about bringing it up with him after all.

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**A/N: ****Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	19. February 2548

_February 2548_

Dani left last night, and the house is surprisingly empty. I had thought I'd grown used to it after she left the first time, but having her gone again has reopened the wound. I miss my daughter. The toddler with the missing tooth who would sleep snuggled between her father and I, the little girl with the sunshine smile and baby-fine curls, the moody teen who had too much attitude but still called me mommy when she was upset.

I roll over in bed, pulling a body pillow against me and holding it tight. I wish she were still here. I wish she hadn't moved on and out of my life.

And I'm glad Gabriel isn't here to see me this way, sobbing into a pillow because my little girl is all grown up and I have no one to look after anymore.

"I haven't left yet." His voice is soft in the doorway and I sit up quickly, wiping my eyes and forcing myself to smile.

"Hi," I say, "I thought you would be at work by now. I woke up and you were gone."

His head tilts to the side. "I woke up early and went to grab something for breakfast." He's holding out a brown paper sack. "I hope you still like cinnamon bagels. I think these are the modern equivalent."

He makes his way to the bed and sits on my side near the edge. I scoot over to make room for him and he swings his legs up beside mine.

"I couldn't find any cream cheese," he says, "but if necessary, I can have some made." He hands me a bagel and a small slice of wrapped butter from the bag. It's comfortable here, sitting beside him in the morning without anything between us. I forget sometimes how comfortable I can be with him.

"Thanks," I say, and then I take a bite of the bread. It's warm and dense, and certainly tastes like a bagel, even if it is a little heavy on the cinnamon.

"This must have cost a fortune," I comment, "I didn't know there was still cinnamon left anywhere in the states."

"There wasn't until recently." Gabriel takes a bite out of his own bagel. "I had them start shipping it from India and some of the other Eastern countries as part of a trade initiative." I remember then that domination is only half of my husband's job. He's a politician again, and so far it looks like he's become a fairly good one.

He smirks beside me, sending me a sidelong glance and chewing on his breakfast. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he teases.

"That's not fair. When you listen in you don't get the whole picture."

"Oh? And what, dear wife, is the whole picture?"

I pause, floundering for a moment as he chuckles and takes another bite of his bagel.

"Well," I say finally, "You weren't exactly the best last time around—"

"Oh?"

"Shush, let me finish. You were barely more than a child—"

Both of his eyebrows fly upwards. "I was not a—"

"Let me finish!" I chide.

His eyes widen but he falls silent. I think he's enjoying this.

"Like I said, you were very young and your primary concerns were retribution and world domination. This time… I don't know. You're more conscious of what you're doing. It's like you actually want to build a viable society instead of punishing the world for not accepting you."

His head tilts to the side and he watches me for a few seconds. I take another bite self-consciously.

"What?" I ask finally. I don't like when he scrutinizes me.

"I was just thinking that when you're not wallowing in self loathing or directing all of your energies towards my demise, you can be quite observant."

I punch him lightly in the arm and roll away before he can grab me, coming to my feet on the other side of the bed, wrapped in our top sheet because I slept nude. "Screw you," I say. I turn my back to him and try to stalk towards the bathroom, but my feet tangle in the bottom of the sheet and I find myself falling to the ground where I crash in a loud thud.

As I pull myself up, trying to look haughty and in control instead of clumsy and embarrassed, Gabriel moves to crouch beside me. He's smiling so wide his eyes twinkle.

"I take it back," he says jokingly, "You're the most unobservant person I've ever met."

He catches my hand before it can hit is cheek and yanks me roughly up, but instead of the stinging blow I'm expecting (and half hoping for) I feel his lips trailing gently from the inside of my palm to wrist and then down to the crook of my arm. I think suddenly of a show I watched as a girl… something about a gothic family and a hand.

"The Addam's Family," Gabriel supplies, "Though that wasn't really the effect I was going for." So he turns me roughly into the circle of his arms and crushes his lips to mine, arm lifting me up by the waist and holding me against him tightly. I can feel my heart rate speeding up in my chest and the blood coursing through my veins.

"Gabriel," I whisper, voice low as he guides me back to the bed and lays me down, following with his own body pressed flush to mine as he removes the sheet and his own clothing. "I love you like this."

He keeps kissing me, lips trailing from the corner of my mouth to my neck and back again, nipping and suckling as he goes.

"I know," he says, "It's nice sometimes."

And it is. Very nice. He loves me on the bed, bagels forgotten on the night stand as we eventually come together, breathing in unison and floating back down to earth.

As we lie there, he strokes the inside of my arm. Up and down, up and down.

"Claire," he says hoarsely.

"Hmm?" I've not yet come completely down from my post-orgasmic high.

"If you want another baby I can give you one."

The statement startles me, but I do not pull away. Another baby.

"I'll turn the world upside down until I find one… or we could…" he pauses, "we could try the old fashioned way."

I am silent for several minutes as we lie there, side by side. His cheek is rested against my breast and he is listening to me breathe, listening to me think.

"Is that what you want?" I ask finally.

"I want what you want Claire," he whispers. I feel his warm breath against my nipple. "I want you to be happy."

I think, one hand coming up to run through his hair and dance at the nape of his neck. Happy. I want to be happy. Am I not right now?

I'm certainly happy with Gabriel, loving him in bed at mid-morning. I'm happy with Dani, even if she's a continent away. I'm happy with Kale, the most inappropriate son-in-law on the planet. I'm happy.

"I know you miss her," he says, "And if we were… normal… we could have more than one child."

I grab him by the hair, tilt his face towards mine as I turn and shimmy down the bed until we're eye to eye.

"Gabriel," I say, "If we were normal we wouldn't be together. If we were normal, I wouldn't have ever had Dani. If we were normal… we wouldn't be here right now." And I kiss him soft and prolonged, feeling his lips beneath mine and our breath mingling.

"You know," he says finally, drawing away and pulling me close again. I can feel his heart beating against mine, "for a woman who is so obsessed with normalcy, you're awfully hard to pin-down on a definition."

We lie there for several more minutes, still thinking, still holding on to the moment.

"Maybe someday," I whisper softly. His eyes have closed now and his breathing has grown even. He's on the edge of sleep. I kiss him on the nose and brush the hair from his face. "But not today."

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**A/N: ****Three more chapters to go my dears. But we've begun posting The Agency for your Viewing pleasure, to help soften to blow. Please remember to review. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	20. April 2548

APRIL 2548

I went running today. I haven't done it in a long time, and I wanted to get out of the house. The air smells like spring and it's getting warm again, and being outside reminded me of how much better things are than they were a year ago.

On my way back I pick up some fresh bread, apples, and cheese, and on a whim decide to visit Gabriel at work. It's almost lunchtime, and he could probably use a break. I alter my course toward the center of the city. It's a large building by today's standards, but in the New York of my adolescence it would have been lost among the skyscrapers.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," as I approach the front desk. "But I'm looking for Sylar."

The young man squints at his ledger. "I don't see anything here. Who are you, and what's your business with him today?" I smile, knowing that in approximately three seconds his attitude is going to change drastically. Poor guy.

"I'm Claire," I say easily. "I'm his wife, and that might be why I'm not on the list." I gesture to his book.

"Oh! Oh, God. I'm sorry," he stutters, jumping up from his chair and closing the ledger hastily. "I didn't realize—"

"It's fine," I interrupt. "Don't worry about it. Is he in?"

"No, I mean, yes he's in. He's with somebody but if you wanted to wait…" he trails off, realizing that he's babbling. "Up the stairs, turn left, and it's the third room on your right."

"Thank you," I tell him, feeling slightly guilty for freaking him out so bad. After all, he doesn't know that I'm not all-powerful and short-tempered. I follow his directions and knock quietly on the third door.

"Come in," he calls. I shut the door behind me and find Gabriel bent over a spread of papers. There's a woman standing next to him trying to explain whatever's written there.

"It makes more sense this way," she's arguing.

"This is not what I asked you to do." His voice is irritated; he hasn't even looked up to see who his visitor is.

"But this is better! Sylar, I know what I'm talking about, and you're not even looking!" She's clearly exasperated, and not very good at controlling it. She stops talking, though, when he pushes his chair back and stands.

"Faedra. How old are you?"

"Thirty-two," she mutters. She doesn't sound thirty-two; she sounds twelve right now. I'm astonished he hasn't lost his patience while I've been standing here.

"Listen. It isn't so much that I think you have nothing to offer as far as experience goes," he says calmly, "it's just that I'm absolutely certain that I know and understand more than you could possibly comprehend. At the risk of sounding condescending, you can tell me that you know better when your experience spans half a millennia or so." She blushes and lowers her head, embarrassed. "Now do it again, and this time follow the parameters I gave you."

"Yes sir." She scoops up the papers and gets out of the room as fast as she possibly can.  
I look back to him and he's looking up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "Hi, Claire."

"Rough day?" I ask, walking across the room to offer him some food.

"Thanks," he sighs as I sit in the chair opposite him. "I hate working with idiots."

"We can't all be geniuses, you know."

"Then they should learn to temper their stupidity with common sense." The words are harsh, but I can already see him relaxing. He just needed a break.

"Shopping's a lot more exciting now that you've reopened trade routes," I comment. "I saw bananas today in the market. I haven't seen them in Manhattan for ages."

He grunts, running his hands back through his hair and idly shooting sparks from his palms. A thought wanders through my head unbidden. It's almost lazy and apathetic in how little thought I give it, but I notice that my husband's hands have dropped and a muscle in his jaw has tightened. Interesting.

"Gabriel…" My voice is speculative. "You were fucking Elle, weren't you? When the two of you showed up in my house in California?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you have sex with Elle?" It started as a random thought, but now I'm really curious. Why is he afraid to answer?

"I'm not afraid to answer; I just don't see the point of the question. You're talking about 600 years ago," he says, standing and pacing to the couch on the east wall. He faces the window so that I can't see his expression, and I choke back a laugh.

"Don't exaggerate. I don't see why you won't just answer the question. Did you…" I stand and sit on the arm of the couch, craning my head so I can see his face, "sleep with Elle?"

He's actually blushing a little. Wow. "We didn't…we didn't sleep much. You had it right the first time."

"That wasn't so bad. And she must have had her charms." I can afford to be generous now, since she's long dead, I'm alive, well, and married to the man. Personally, I couldn't stand the girl. Positively psychotic. Of course, for him that could have been a plus.

"Not really," his voice interrupts my thoughts. "She was kind of a loose cannon, and she used and manipulated me before I knew how to hit back."

"Who else?" I press nosily.

"I'm curious! I want to know who my husband has screwed, is that so wrong?" I can hear him grinding his teeth, and I smirk just a bit.

"No one in any stretch of time that could be called 'recent'."

"So there were others, then? How many?"

"Claire!"

"Hundreds?" I ask gleefully, well aware that I am pushing him beyond his limits.

"No!"

He turns to look at me, sees my grin, and lets out an explosive breath. "Her name was Maya. A Dominican woman. She and her brother gave me a ride back into the country, I killed him, and she and I came to New York."

"I'm assuming you didn't mention the murder."

He grins in recollection. "Not until after we'd found Mohinder. She was pretty upset. I had to shoot her."

"Both of them, huh?" I say dryly.

He shrugs. "She healed. I think that might have been your blood, actually."

I rise and kiss him sweetly. "Thanks honey. My self-esteem's gone up a lot today."

His arms encircle me as he grumbles, "You'll be the death of me."

I smirk as I head towards the door. He does still have work, after all. "Nice to know it's mutual."

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**A/N: ****Two more chapters to go my dears. But we've begun posting The Agency for your Viewing pleasure, to help soften to blow. Please remember to review. Thanks. :)**

**--Mel and Chuck**


	21. June 2548

JUNE 2548

We did eventually talk about traveling. We weighed the pros and the cons in a lengthy discussion over dinner and far into the night. I was stunned by how receptive he was to the idea. We talked about options, places we wanted to visit, things we wanted to do. I'd never been across the ocean. I wanted to see the pyramids, the great wall. He wanted to take me to Niagara Falls and the Amazon. We had fallen asleep in the middle of the conversation and continued the next morning as he prepared for work. In all, it took us a month to make a decision and get to the point we're at now, sitting at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a map spread out in front of us.

"There are a few new settlements here in Ireland," Gabriel says, pointing to a small island on the map, "They would be great to settle in when we're done with the whole travel thing. I've never been there, so we wouldn't be recognized."

I nod, adding 'Ireland after?' to the sheet of paper in front of me.

"Didn't you mention something about some islands in the Caribbean?" I ask.

"Yes, but I think you might prefer Ireland; it's more civil…" He pauses. "Why don't we visit both beforehand and then decide?" I smile and nod.

I can barely believe that this is going to happen. It's like a dream.

"I promise, Claire, it is happening," Gabriel says as he stands, running his hands through his hair and yawning. "I have hundreds of hours of meetings with Kale and my commanders to prove it."

I continue to sit at the table, watching as he stretches and pops his knuckles.

"I think that enough for tonight," he says finally, holding a hand out to me and waiting for me to take it. And I do, letting him pull me up and lead me to the bedroom. We left the bed unmade this morning, but the sheets still look clean and inviting. The spark of electricity I feel against the shell of my ear as Gabriel trails his tongue around it tells me it won't be for much longer.

"You know, Claire?" he asks, voice low and husky as he stands behind me, "I'm very upset with you."

I shiver. "What for?" I say as he sweeps my hair from my neck and nips at it.

"Your attitude," he murmurs, the fingers of his left hand digging into my hip so hard I can feel the bruises forming.

I bite my lip as a flood of wetness pools between my thighs. "What attitude?"

His right hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back and holding it against his shoulder. I can feel the entire length of his body rock solid behind me and his erection straining at the small of my back. "You know exactly what attitude," he hisses. His hands burst into flame and my hair catches fire. The searing heat is so painful that I have to scream. He chuckles in my ear as he puts out the fire and smoothes my hair back to its naturally glossy mane.

"You've been unbearably demanding for the past month," he continues, "Needy and childish when I go to my meetings even though you were the one who convinced me to make them. Delegating the reigns of an empire takes time, Claire."

"I'm sorry," I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed as he pushes me away and I stumble, hitting the floor hard.

"The knife, Claire," he directs, taking control of my body and becoming the puppet master. I feel the old spark of fear and a rush of arousal as he penetrates my very agency. "Let's see if we can calm that petulance for the future."

We spend some quality time together on the bed as he chides me and the blade works feverishly at my skin. An hour later and we're both lying there, languorous and completely at ease on bloody sheets that stick to our bare skin. There's a pink glow to the gold of our complexions now and it looks like he's wearing poorly made lipstick. I lick his lips to take care of that and taste the copper and tang of my own blood and arousal.

"You know, we can still do this when we're traveling," I say, settling on top of him and circling one of his nipples with the tip of my finger. "You went at it like a hyena tonight."

He raises one eyebrow and frowns.

"I only mean that you were doing me like you were going to miss the blood and the sex, and neither of those things are staying behind in Manhattan."

He lets his eyes flutter shut, but I can tell that he's thinking. We lay there for a few more minutes, pressed skin to skin.

"I know that," he finally says, "It's just…"

"Just what?" He cups my ass and electrocutes me, making me jolt and gasp against him.

"Let me talk," he warns lovingly. I press a kiss to the hollow of his throat and nestle against his shoulder in response. "It's just that we've never lived anywhere but the city, not as a couple. I suppose I'm being a bit superstitious, but it feels like we've only really been happy as husband and wife when we're both here."

I let his words sink in. Is there a connection between this place and our marriage? Certainly. Anything good or bad that's happened to us as a couple has started here. Our marriage, the miscarriage, Danielle, Kale…but do I think our union will fail anywhere else on the planet? No. This man, the one I let cut and abuse and please me, is the love of my life, no matter where I choose to lead it. But I still feel the same nervousness I can tell is coursing through him, the same anticipation.

Maybe it's because for the first time since the beginning, we're setting out as equals, partners on a journey that neither of us has taken before. We're starting over, only this time we're both willing and participating. This time I'm not fighting him every inch of the way and trying to ruin my only shot at happiness.

And maybe that's what's disturbing him.

"I hadn't thought of that," he says against my hair. "This is different."

I stretch against him, feel the sinew and the skin beneath me and revel as I speak. "You know, Gabriel," I say, "I think a part of you misses my reticence."

"I don't miss loving a woman who doesn't love me back." I frown. There's hurt in his voice.

"No, but I'm sure you miss the real struggle, the rewarding violence."

He pauses and his hand trails down to cup my sex. It's still wet. "Oh, I wouldn't say violence doesn't still have rewards."

"You know what I mean."

He sighs. "I do. It was… an interesting hobby of mine."

I chuckle and the sound vibrates against his skin. "I think interesting is an understatement. It was your favorite hobby, my dear, sadistic husband."

He grumbles in response and we continue to lay there, comfortable in the silence.

"You know," I say finally, thoughtfully, "I think you miss me fighting back. Is that it? You miss the times when I'd struggle and cry and try to stick a knife in your off-switch?" He shivers, and I can tell by his renewing arousal that I'm right. "Oh my," I whisper huskily, "We're going to have to do something about this. I hadn't realized I was neglecting my husband's evil twin."

By the time we're done with round two the blood has splattered all four of the walls, blood belonging to both of us. Sylar collapses into a satiated heap on the floorboards beside me, eyes glowing and skin fevered. The spot between my thighs is sore and his seed coats my thighs and stomach.

I guess I missed it too.

"We're not leaving this behind," I murmur as his hand finds mine. He squeezes in response and we both fall into a satisfied sleep.


	22. September 2548

SEPTEMBER 2548

"Mm," I sigh as I roll onto my stomach. The sun feels glorious against my bare skin, and I'm sure I could lie here for a very long time.

"The sun will be going down in an hour or so," Gabriel comments. "There's not much purpose in lying on the beach at that point."

I prop myself up on my elbows to look at him. He's sitting on a towel, watching me sunbathe. He doesn't really burn, but neither does he get the almost-sinful pleasure that I do from the sunshine. We've spent almost two weeks here in the Caribbean, mostly for my pleasure. He likes the solitude that comes with being the only two people on the island, but I think he'll be happy when we move on. I promised we could leave at the end of the week.

"We don't have to," he reminds me now. He's told me that several times in the past couple of days, but I'm excited to continue our adventure. So far we've only seen Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon, and I'm ready for more.

"Tell me about Ireland," I prompt him. That's our next destination before heading to continental Europe. He pulls his gaze from the horizon to focus on me.

"Well, I can take you to Dublin if you like, but I think you'll enjoy the smaller towns more. It's very beautiful, but it's going to get cold. We'll need to invest in some warmer clothing." His eyes flicker down to the bathing suit I'm wearing. "I doubt your current attire will be enough to protect you from the elements."

"Go on," I encourage, ignoring the way his eyes linger on my skin. He smirks at me, but obliges.

"If we decide we want to live there for a while, there are several locations where we can stay in relative privacy. The heather's picturesque, but most don't choose to live in it."

"Wait." I sit up. "What makes you think I want to live in the middle of nowhere all by ourselves?" He raises an eyebrow. "Maybe I was looking forward to having neighbors."

He chuckles low in his throat. "You're not the social butterfly anymore, and we both know it. And besides," he leans forward and catches my arm, dragging me closer to him, "we wouldn't want the neighbors to hear you screaming at night." The breath that carries his whisper tickles my ear and sends a shiver down my spine.

A small noise escapes my lips as he grabs me harder and pulls me on top of him, kissing my exposed, sun-warmed flesh. "Oh. I see your point."

After my shrieks have echoed through the empty air and I've collapsed against his chest, I reflect that perhaps we could use the solitude for a few years. And we can go in to town whenever we want anyway. I am vaguely aware that the sun is getting lower as I listen to my husband's breathing.

"Do you remember dancing at the State dinner?" he murmurs.

"Mmm…yes. The dinner was awful, though."

"Some people have a more refined palate," he says loftily. "We couldn't very well have corndogs or something low-class like that."

I lift my head so he can see me raise an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that, given the choice, you would have eaten that weird lox and caviar before a corndog?"

He chuckles. "Probably not. It wasn't very high quality stuff." I poke him in the ribs and he grunts, grabbing my fingers.

We play the game for a few more minutes before I speak up, "Gabriel? We're going to live forever."

He chokes and rolls onto his side, laughing harder than I've ever heard him do before. "Are you kidding me? Did you really just say that?"

I blush furiously and punch him in the arm. "Shut up." He eventually gets himself back under control, lying back and pulling me against him again.

"Go ahead," he gasps between breaths. "Sorry."

"No. I don't appreciate your attitude."

He pinches my upper arm lightly. "I said I was sorry. Now talk." I grumble a little more before continuing my original train of thought.

"You used to tell me I'd get used to it," I say quietly as he falls silent. "That I would learn to care about you, and want you, and love you. You told me that I could learn to be happy even when my family and friends had turned to dust. And I called you a liar. And even when I couldn't do that, I didn't believe you. Do you remember?"

It took him a long time to answer, and when he did, he had to clear his throat a few times first. "Yes. I remember all of it."

He stood and lifted me up, silencing me with a look. "The sun is setting. I want you to see it before we leave."

I let him protect me in the confines of his arms as he move up into the sky. I'm involuntarily reminded of West as we fly up, only this time the man I am with is comfortable with himself and who we are together, not willing to stay hidden from the world forever.

"Look," he says simply as we turn toward the sunset. The sky is losing its brilliant sapphire hue and gaining streaks of iridescent color instead, purple and orange and pink and gold. It's beautiful.

We stare in awe as the sun gradually slips below the horizon and moonlight takes its place. My throat is tight with emotion as I rest my head against Gabriel's chest.

"I was wrong," I whisper to him without looking away from the sky. "You were right about everything. I love you." I blink tears out of my eyes and finally look up to see him watching me.

"We have forever," he murmurs back, and the words that were once an unbearable threat now sound like a promise of hope and redemption.

**

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**

**A/N: Dear readers. We reached the end. Chuck and I would like to thank you from the bottom of our-admittedly shallow-hearts. You have stuck with us throughout this long journey which has been the Interesting Hobby series, have praised and corrected us, and have loved Sylar and Claire and Dani and Kale just as much as we have. I'm not sure we would have ever finished the series (which in its entirety totals 131694 words) if you hadn't been here supporting us. So thank you. Thank you for brightening our days with your comments and for sticking with us. We hope you've enjoyed this series as much as we have. **

**Love, Mel and Chuck.**

**PS: For those of you interested, we do have two other active stories at the moment. Collide and The Agency. The pace is slow going at the moment, because Mel is in the UK vacationing/studying until the end of June, but we have not abandoned them. **


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